It was almost dark when she reached the house, and as she went up the path from the gate she saw lights springing out here and there in the upper windows. In the passage to her own room she came upon Mrs. Seymour lighting the gas, her back toward the stair-head. The elder woman, hearing the girl's light step, turned with the match in her hand. Viola, still engrossed in her own thoughts, mechanically smiled a greeting. Mrs. Seymour's face, with the crude gaslight falling on it, was unresponsively grave. "I'm glad that's you," she said; "I've had a sort of scare about your father." "Scare!" exclaimed Viola, stopping with a start. "What do you mean?" "Nothing for you to get frightened about. It's all over now. He had a sort of a sinking spell, that was all, when he was playing them cards with Corinne. She come out and hollered for me, and I come up and found him looking white and kind o' queerish. He said he'd only lost his breath. I gave him some brandy, and it seemed to pull him together all right. But I didn't, some way or other, like his looks. I sorter wished you was here." Viola looked relieved. "Oh, he's had that several times before. It's his heart, the doctor said; but he didn't seem to think it was anything serious. You frightened me." Mrs. Seymour walked down the hall to the gas-jet by the stair-head. "You don't want to get frightened," she said over her shoulder; "but I don't think you know much about sickness, and, if I was you, I'd get the doctor to-morrow." "I'll do that anyway," said Viola, as she opened the door of the colonel's room. The picture that she entered upon was reassuring. The lamp was lighted under its opaque yellow shade, and cast its chastened light over the center of the room. Here Corinne lay on the floor, the pack of cards spread out before her. In the intensity of her absorption she kicked gently on the floor with her toes, making a soft but regular tattoo. Near by sat the kitten, its tail curled neatly round its front feet, ink-black save for the transparent yellow-green of its large watching eyes. The colonel leaned over the arm of his chair, following the game as intently as the child. He was laughing when Viola came in, and pointing with a long forefinger at a possible move that Corinne had not seen. Both were so interested in their play that they did not heed the opening of the door. Viola stood in the aperture, regarding them with pleasure and relief. A slight smell of brandy in the air was the only indication that there had been sickness here a short time before. At the sound of the closing of the door they both looked up. Over the colonel's visage the same childishly embarrassed expression flitted that Viola had noticed a few days before. Corinne, on the contrary, merely gave the newcomer the short side look of begrudged attention, and returned to the cards, murmuring, "It's only Viola."